


Music of The Spheres

by Anonim



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Jaskier, D&D bard-inspired magic, Gen, Geralt apologises, Whump, lots of singing and lute playing, spellcaster!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22281646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonim/pseuds/Anonim
Summary: Geralt gave him a sideways glance as he continued limping down the road. Jaskier fell into pace next to him, although just out of arm’s reach. He glanced down at his leg to see what was causing the limp.‘Looks like you’ve got a few nasty cuts there,’ he said. ‘It’s really a stroke of luck that you ran into me then.’‘How’s that?’Geralt’s question was simple, but the sarcastic edge to his usual, monotone voice packed it full of meaning.‘I’m glad you asked,’ the bard said with a giant grin, ignoring Geralt’s attitude.Years after their rather harsh separation, Geralt and Jaskier meet once again by chance. Geralt finds out that the bard had, under peculiar circumstances, acquired unusual magical abilities.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 26
Kudos: 289





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> I've always missed the support class representation in fantasy shows and movies, so I was glad that we finally got a prominent bard character in Jaskier, but I could help but wonder... what if he was more like a D&D bard? Oh, the possibilities...

It was just over a couple of years after they separated under such harsh terms that their paths crossed once again. Neither had planned it that way, but it seemed they were bound to meet again, sooner or later.

Jaskier had just arrived at a tavern in a sleepy old village somewhere in Temeria when he overheard some of the patrons talking about a witcher that went out to take care of their harpy problem just shy of a day ago, and that they didn’t know when to expect him to return.

Jaskier wondered if it was Geralt. It was most likely him, but who knew? The villagers didn’t describe the witcher any further than that, and Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to go up to them and ask.

He lingered in the tavern for a while, strumming his lute, occasionally singing a small song or two, barely earning more than an applause from the villagers. Not that he expected more. His playing and song-writing had improved considerably over the past two years, but he wasn’t playing his greatest hits, and his audience wasn’t exactly the type that had money to spare, either. He mostly only played to have something to do. Plus, the tavern owner agreed to lend him a room for the night as long as he entertained the guests.

A few hours later, and there was still no word from the witcher. Jaskier stood from his stool, pushed his lute to hang from his back, and found the group of people that mentioned this witcher still in the tavern. They pointed him in the general direction the witcher took off to, and the most likely road he’d be arriving from if he was indeed still alive. If it was Geralt, Jaskier thought, and the creatures he had to deal with truly were harpies, then he doubted he was dead.

It was nearing sundown when Jaskier sauntered out of the tavern and made his way down the road leading East, and he barely came across anyone until the sun was just starting to touch the horizon. He was debating turning around when he spotted a figure further down the road. The light conditions and distance made it hard to make out too many details, but there was no mistaking the broad shoulders and long, white hair. Jaskier pulled his lute back up and strummed lightly, leaning against a tree on the roadside.

There was a weird unevenness to Geralt’s walking, Jaskier noticed, as the witcher got closer. He was limping. That explained a few things.

Geralt’s face, as always, was near unreadable, but Jaskier could tell he was debating whether to acknowledge the bard to ignore him and walk by.

‘Jaskier,’ he growled, eventually, as he reached the tree. It was weird to hear his voice again after so long.

‘Geralt,’ Jaskier sung back, pushing himself from the tree. The lute’s melodies cut off abruptly. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’

‘Hmm.’

Geralt gave him a sideways glance as he continued limping down the road. Jaskier fell into pace next to him, although just out of arm’s reach. He glanced down at his leg to see what was causing the limp.

‘Looks like you’ve got a few nasty cuts there,’ he said. ‘It’s really a stroke of luck that you ran into me then.’

‘How’s that?’

Geralt’s question was simple, but the sarcastic edge to his usual, monotone voice packed it full of meaning.

‘I’m glad you asked,’ the bard said with a giant grin, ignoring Geralt’s attitude. He pointed out a fallen log just off the road a bit further ahead. ‘There. We can sit down.’

Extremely reluctantly, Geralt followed along.

‘You’re not making any sense, Jaskier,’ he said as they sat down.

‘You know how much I love to talk, but this time it’s best if I just show you,’ the bard said. ‘Put your foot up so I can see.’

It seemed like Geralt decided to keep humouring him, as after a few seconds he did as Jaskier asked, and pulled his knee up so Jaskier had a better view at his injured leg. Three nasty cuts on one side, one on the other, hastily treated and bandaged. Jaskier loosened the makeshift gauze, letting it slip to Geralt’s ankle, and grabbed the neck of his lute, bringing it up to his chest.

Geralt’s expression, usually so passive, gave away his confusion, and annoyance. The latter, Jaskier was used to, but he revelled in being the mysterious one this time, if only for a while. He began plucking a pleasant little melody, magic slowly seeping into the tune, and he could tell Geralt felt its presence. He smiled as he started singing.

_‘Sit with me, I see you’re worn,  
Your legs are tired, your skin is torn.  
You fought for long, but your fight did end,  
Now it’s time for your wounds to mend.’_

His voice was soft, but crystal clear. He could feel the magical charge of the music fill the air around them, and saw it slowly mending the cuts on Geralt’s leg.

_‘Hear the song that cures what aches,  
That heals what’s bruised, that mends what breaks.’_

Jaskier’s tune faded and Geralt regarded the wounds with a frown. They hadn’t healed completely but looked much like they would have looked after a few days of healing. He’d definitely be able to walk without a limp now.

Geralt looked up at Jaskier, who was grinning at his handiwork through half-lidded eyes. He looked exhausted. A dozen questions swirled in Geralt’s mind, and he could barely pick just one to ask.

‘What kind of magic was that?’ he asked, finally. Jaskier set his chin in his hand, his elbow propped on his knee.

‘I’m sure it won’t surprise you one bit to hear that I have no clue,’ he replied, way too nonchalant about it all. ‘I only know that it’s not the kind we’re used to around here.’

Geralt stood slowly, testing his leg. As he shifted his weight from leg to leg, he felt what little pain he felt wasn’t enough to make him limp. Next to him, Jaskier also stood, stifling a yawn. Geralt just stood there for a few seconds, staring at the ground before Jaskier’s feet, before making his way back to the road.

‘It’s odd,’ he grumbled when he heard Jaskier catch up.

‘And here I thought you might appreciate my newfound ability’s helpfulness,’ Jaskier said, sourly. What little good mood the bard had mustered before has faded. ‘Heaven forbid I be useful.’

‘Jaskier, that’s not-’ Geralt’s words died in his throat. The words he’d said to the bard just before they parted ways so long ago have been on repeat at the back of his mind since he spotted him just minutes ago. He couldn’t blame him for not interpreting his words in good faith. He was lucky the bard wasn’t petty and actually healed him despite the bad note they left things at. ‘Thank you. For healing my leg.’

He heard a weird shuffle in Jaskier’s steps for a moment.

‘Uh- oh yeah? Well, you’re very welcome,’ he said, weirdly indignant.

Geralt didn’t reply. The silence between them grew more and more awkward the longer they spent not addressing the elephant in the room. It seemed Jaskier was determined not to be the one to bring it up, and Geralt couldn’t bring himself to, either, despite being fully aware that it was on him to apologise to the bard.

‘So that’s how it’s going to be?’ Jaskier said, finally. Geralt stopped in his tracks, and slowly turned around. Jaskier was a few steps behind, both hands clasping the strap of his lute, leaning slightly towards the witcher.

‘Thanked you, didn’t I?’

Jaskier sneered.

‘It was the least you could fucking do,’ he grumbled in response. Geralt felt himself getting riled up, and was about to respond in a similar vein, but stopped himself. This was too much like when he pushed him away. He couldn’t let his frustration pull him into yet another vicious cycle and make him say something he’d regret. He sighed, and his shoulders sagged to a more relaxed position.

‘You’re right,’ he said, looking seemingly for thefirst time in a long while straight into the bard’s eyes. ‘There’s more. But I’m tired. Was hoping we could discuss it in the tavern. Over mead.’

At first, Jaskier’s eyes went wide at that, followed by a bout of rapid blinking.

‘R-really?’ He seemed to think for a few seconds, then straightened himself in an effort to seem less foolish and possibly hide how pleased he was by Geralt’s words. Geralt almost smiled, but instead pretended that he didn’t pick up on Jaskier’s antics and just nodded.

It was true. He owed Jaskier an apology but needed some time to figure out how to say it. He also had many, many more questions about the bard’s newfound… abilities. But he’d spent all day harpy hunting, and he needed at least a bit more rest before he could deal with someone like Jaskier.

The silence between them for the rest of the journey was more of a peaceful kind.

Trailing slightly behind Geralt, Jaskier took a deep breath and let it out, relaxing into the comfortable pace he set for himself. He listened to the rhythmic sound of his footsteps, and to the sound of nature around him, crickets by the hundreds getting louder and louder as the sun sunk deeper over the horizon, painting the sky brilliant shades of dark blue, purple and red. Other insects kept a much slower rhythm to the odd sounds they made, the occasional hoot from an owl or the flapping of wings breaking up the monotony of the insects’ noise.

His fingers itched for his lute. The song of the crickets seemed to call for him to play, and after a few more minutes of trying to resist the call, he gave in, pulling the lute once again to his chest. He was too tired to sing or come up with lyrics on the fly, and so he began strumming a solemn, reverent tune. The soft and sophisticated sounds of the lute settled lightly over the unruly cricketing.

Jaskier rarely took the time to take in nature so deeply, and now that he let it seep in, let it inspire his playing, it brought a smile to his face. Perhaps his repertoire could use a few tunes about nature and tranquillity next to all the cruder pieces. Through half lidded eyes, he studied the dark treeline further off, the tall, dry grass by each side of the road, the orange-rimmed clouds near where the sun has slipped out of view, and enjoyed the soft breeze that occasionally caressed his cheeks, picked a few stray locks of his hair up from his brow, and tugged lightly at the hem of his green-red jacket.

Several steps ahead, the witcher walked with heavy steps. While usually he kept his movements as quiet as possible, and entire day of harpy-hunting tired him out enough not to care so much about treading lightly.

Quite the pair they made, he thought. Jaskier, lithe, with his colourful garments, the idyllic song of his lute, the gentle smile on his face, travelled floaty and carefree. To his stark contrast, Geralt, broad, dressed from head to toe in dark, neutral colours, sword on his back, trod firmly on the ground, always at the ready.

Despite his best efforts, however, the bards lulling music got to him, and soon enough, his steps were softer, his gait relaxed, and his mind cleared. He never fully let his guard down, but at that moment, in the late spring evening, he felt at ease like he rarely ever did, not when he travelled alone.

As they near the village, he considered what he would to say to the bard. He’d start by apologising to him for the harsh words he’d said before they’d parted. He’d been upset, angry at the world, and when Jaskier sauntered unknowingly in his sights, well, he took it all out on him. But really, he’d been angry at himself. He had a feeling Jaskier knew this, knew that he didn’t really mean any of those words, but he needed to apologise, and Jaskier needed to hear his apology.

All the stars were out by the time they reached the village. Geralt noticed Jaskier rubbing the back of his neck, trying to roll it around against the pain. He probably spent the last few minutes of their journey staring at the stars, and now the back of his neck ached.

Some things never change.

Now they sat at a table in the tavern, a tankard of mead in front of each of them. They’d only exchanged a few words up to that point, and Geralt felt he couldn’t delay it any longer.

‘I wanted to say…’ he paused, looked straight into Jaskier’s eyes once more. ‘I’m sorry. I was angry, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.’

Jaskier broke into a smile but didn’t immediately speak. Geralt found himself talking again.

‘I blamed you for the Child of Surprise, for what happened with the djinn, but… now I realise I should be thanking you.’

That seemed to surprise the bard. His smile lingered, but there was a different quality to it. Whereas before, he could have replied, but chose not to, this time, he seemed to be at a loss for words.

‘Th-… thanking me?’

Geralt had forgotten how sing-songy Jaskier’s talking voice could sound like at times, especially when asking a question.

‘I’ve… met the princess,’ he explained. ‘After the siege. She’s under my protection now.’

The same wide smile from before returned to Jaskier’s face.

‘I knew there was something different about you,’ he said. Geralt debated asking Jaskier to elaborate, but then his words reminded him of the other thing he wanted to get to the bottom of.

‘There’s something different about you, too,’ he said.

‘Ah.’ Jaskier leaned back in his seat, one hand wandering over to his lute case. ‘That little thing. What do you think?’

‘It’s… intriguing.’

‘Uh-huh, uh-huh…’

‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

‘Mm-hmm…’

Geralt stayed silent. He knew at this point Jaskier was just fishing for compliments, perhaps even stalling.

‘You’re not getting more out of me, bard, so get on with it.’

Jaskier rolled his eyes, making quite the performance out of it, once again leaning back in his seat.

‘I imagine you expect it to be a bit of a wild tale,’ he said. Geralt didn’t really know what he expected it to be, but he didn’t bother correcting the bard. When Jaskier saw he wasn’t going to talk, he took a deep breath and collected himself, much like all those other times he began recounting an epic tale. ‘Well, it was a few months or so after your little… _outburst_ at me that I found myself travelling through a rather scenic stretch of woods in Kaedwen. I came across another traveller, we hit it off, ended up setting camp together, safety in numbers and all. He told me his name was Mende Mondo, that he was from _very_ far away, and that he loved stories. He seemed very excited to meet a “minstrel” like myself – his words – and to his request, I entertained him with many of my stories and songs. I’m telling you, Geralt, I know I can be hyperbolic, but he was really into my songs! He was practically soaking them up, truly.’

Jaskier became more and more animated and enthusiastic as he told the story, seemingly genuinely excited that someone thought so highly of his songs. Sometimes it seemed to Geralt that Jaskier wasn’t fully aware of how many people truly adored his work, despite constantly benefiting from it. It wasn’t as if he never got any attention from complete strangers. There was something endearing about his obliviousness.

‘When I woke up the next day, he was gone, but he’d left me a note in which he thanked me for all the stories I’d “gifted” him, and that in return, he’d also left me a gift of his own. “The ability to influence reality through song,” he wrote. “Life imitates art.” Well, when I picked my lute up after that, it was… I can’t even put into words, Geralt, what I felt. It was good. Really good… Ever since that, I’d been slowly discovering what I can do with this newfound ability.’

‘Hm.’

Geralt sat in silence for a few moments, studying Jaskier. There was certainly something different about him, in the way he _felt_ over all. He still felt decidedly like Jaskier, the voice, the scent, the inexplicably still boyish face. But he was Jaskier in a different way. It was hard to grasp, let alone describe.

Jaskier, meanwhile, was clearly waiting for more of a reaction to his story.

‘I’ve never heard of anything like this,’ Geralt finally said.

‘Now you have,’ Jaskier replied, as if it was that simple. ‘I’ll have you know you’re the first person I’ve told the whole story to.’

‘Good choice,’ Geralt said, completely ignoring the implication that despite everything, he was still the person Jaskier trusted the most. ‘If the wrong people found out about it, you could get into trouble. Hard to believe you didn’t boast about it to any ladies, though.’

Jaskier feigned hurt.

‘Now, now, Geralt, I don’t need this… _this_ to impress any ladies, thank you very much. I’ve fared perfectly well without it before, I’d be disappointed in myself if I couldn’t do it the old-fashioned way.’

Geralt let him have that, even though he still doubted that the bard didn’t even once show off this unusual magic of his.

‘Still, it shows restraint. Didn’t know you had it in you.’

‘I can’t decide whether to take that as a compliment or an insult,’ Jaskier said, squinting. Then, he waved his hand as if giving in to something Geralt wasn’t even insisting on. ‘Alright, I’ll take the compliment, rare as they come from you.’

The end of that last sentence turned into a yawn that Jaskier just barely hid with his forearm. Geralt watched silently as the bard downed the remaining ale from his tankard, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and stood up.

‘Now, as much as I’d love to stay and chat, it is late and I am spent,’ he said, gathering up his lute. He turned to leave, but then abruptly stopped and turned around. ‘And don’t you dare leave without me, Witcher!’

Geralt shrugged in a very ambiguous manner, and for a moment it looked like Jaskier wanted to argue, but another yawn settled the matter and he turned around once more to head up to his room. Geralt watched him disappear up the stairs before paying for a room himself.

He might learn to regret this decision, but for the time being, he was just glad that despite everything, the bard still wanted to accompany him.


	2. Aria in The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of Jaskier's newfound powers are revealed as the two travel together.

The next morning, Geralt was surprised to find that Jaskier had a horse of his own. The bard rode next to him on a grey, dark-maned stallion, with more ease than the last time he’d seen him in the saddle.

‘It was a gift from a little girl,’ Jaskier explained, when Geralt decided to ask. ‘I’d helped her family get out of a tough spot. She said Gallant here was her second favourite horse and insisted on teaching me how to ride better before she bequeathed me the horse. I couldn’t possibly say no. She insisted I treat him like a prince in her stead, so I do. Don’t I, Gallant?’

The bard patted the side of the horse’s neck, which blew some air out its nose in response.

Geralt let the smallest of smiles show on his face. The story, simple as it was, was probably one of his favourite ones he’d heard from the bard. Gallant the horse himself was also a beautiful beast. He deserved a good rider. As far as Geralt was concerned, all horses did.

Throughout the day, Geralt noticed Jaskier seemed less talkative than before, but in a comfortable way. He’d occasionally make small talk, but wouldn’t force it, or hum a little tune when he got bored. After a while, Geralt noticed a breeze would pick up each time the bard sang and would ruffle the leaves on the trees around them until the very last note faded. Things felt lighter, calmer when that happened, and it didn’t take long for Geralt to realise that even when he wasn’t necessarily trying, Jaskier’s voice was carried magic with it.

That night, when they’d already set the campfire up after taking care of the horses, and Geralt started preparing their food, Jaskier sat a bit further off, strumming his lute while staring at a pile of pebbles intently. When Geralt noticed this, he stopped what he was doing and looked questioningly up at Jaskier.

The bard didn’t notice the look, just kept playing. Just as Geralt was about to open his mouth to ask what he was trying to do, the notes scaled higher, the pebbles shook, and then shakily and slowly lifted to hover just in front of Jaskier, who looked more focused than Geralt had ever seen him. The song changed slightly, this time the notes sounding like they were going round-and-round, and sure enough, the pebbles started to spin in a neat circle before Jaskier. The circle changed in height and circumference as Jaskier changed up the scales he played, while retaining the back-and-forth sound that seemed to drive this magic.

Abruptly, Jaskier stopped, and the pebbles fell to the ground, and he noticed for the first time that Geralt was staring at him. He broke out into a toothy grin.

‘Neat trick, huh?’

Geralt hummed. He didn’t have enough understanding of this specific, alien brand of magic to know how impressive Jaskier’s little “trick” truly was, but it _was_ new.

‘Honestly, I wouldn’t know,’ he said with a slight shrug. Jaskier nodded, as if to say, “fair enough.”

‘In the past I’ve been able to make objects move in a… _cruder_ way, so to speak,’ he explained, then straightened his back with a proud smirk. ‘I’ve even recreated that sign that you use not too long ago. Aard, right? But finer movement like this requires a bit more concentration and delicacy.’

To demonstrate, he strummed a harsh chord on his lute, and the twigs, leaves, and even pebbles on the ground before him blew away from him, much like how Aard would have, but on a smaller scale, which Geralt assumed was intentional on the bard’s part, as he probably didn’t want to blow their camp away.

‘See? Simple,’ he said, not at all acting like anything he just did was impressive. But Geralt had to admit – never out loud, of course – that it _was_ impressive. And it did put into perspective how the earlier “trick” was even more so. ‘Now, I’ve been developing this song lately to the point of consistently being able to lift the pebbles and spin them around, but what I’ve been wondering is if I could recreate the same effect with larger, heavier objects.’

‘Song? Is that what you call them?’ Geralt asked.

‘I guess you could call them spells, but I think there’s a bit of a difference,’ Jaskier said. ‘Although sometimes a single sound or chord is enough, as I just demonstrated.’

Geralt nodded in understanding.

‘When you healed my wounds yesterday,’ he said. ‘You were singing. But not now.’

‘Ah. Well,’ Jaskier said. ‘Any sort of music will do the trick with a lot of these “spells,” actually. I could have just played the melody, or sung without playing, but it wouldn’t have been quite as effective. It seems that the richer the music, the more powerful the effect.’

To demonstrate, he set the lute aside and gathered some of the pebbles in his hand, holding them out in front of him. He looked at Geralt, then back at the stones, and started singing. Not words, just meaningless sounds, evoking the same melodies that he played on his lute earlier, and one by one the pebbles lifted from his palm and danced around in a circle. There seemed to be a quality to his voice that wasn’t there before, but Geralt couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was.

He looked up from the pebbles to Jaskier’s face as he sang, and saw his eyebrows twitch together in concentration. Despite being a trained, practiced singer, it seemed something about the magical quality of the notes he sang made them harder to form, and soon enough, Jaskier’s voice cracked, and the pebbles fell to the ground. Jaskier himself seemed to be slightly out of breath as he dropped his hand to his side.

‘That is why I use an instrument,’ he said, once he got his breathing under control again. ‘It makes the magic easier to control.’

Geralt took a few moments to catalogue all this new information about the nature of Jaskier’s magical abilities.

‘Hmm.’

Jaskier blinked very slowly, which served to accentuate the unamused look on his face.

‘Hmm indeed,’ he muttered, picking softly at the strings, a tune that was neither here nor there. It faded out like a person that didn’t know how quickly it was appropriate to leave the room, and a halfway-awkward silence settled in its place. Geralt went back to preparing their food.

‘What…’ he paused, as if to reconsider whether he really wanted to ask. ‘What else can you do with this magic of yours?’

Jaskier broke into a grin that Geralt couldn’t see but could hear in his voice.

‘Oh, but if I told you, that would spoil the surprise.’

‘Huh. Good that I asked.’

Jaskier had to admit, Geralt had a point there. It was so rare that the witcher deigned to ask him to tell him more, mostly because Jaskier usually went on and on without needing to be prompted, but since their last encounter, he decided he was going to tune down the attention-seeking puppy act that he was probably getting too old for, anyway. He found that, while he still very much enjoyed talking, taking a break every now and then was refreshing. And now he was turning down an opportunity to show off his newfound abilities to Geralt, a chance he wouldn’t have missed when they first met. Still, he would stand by that decision.

‘You’ll see soon enough, my friend,’ he said.

* * *

Of course, he had meant in a day or so, not that very same night.

Well into the night, just a few hours after he’d fallen asleep, he awoke to the sound of swords clashing. He immediately shot up, twisting to see what was going on.

Geralt was locked in a swordfight with a man clad in black leather, the sharp clangs as their blades met echoing across the forest in the dead silence of night. Jaskier rose to one knee, ready to intervene, when he saw Geralt’s head snap in his direction, brows pulled together.

‘Jaskier!’ He heard him yell, and it was a miracle he had the presence of mind to follow Geralt’s line of sight and turn around to see another dark figure approaching him.

‘ _Halt!’_ Jaskier shouted, shoulders pulled back, jaw jutting forward, hands curling in fist by his sides in an effort to put more force behind his shout. His voice echoed through their portion of the woods, accompanied by a sound akin to rolling thunder, its force-wave causing the man to stagger backwards until he lost his balance and fell on his back. Jaskier wasted no time: he stepped towards the fallen man, and before he could try to stand up, dropped to his knees, burying his fingers into the ground.

‘ _These roots that in the forest grow  
Shall catch my enemy and not let go.’_

It was less of a song and more just a poem, but even so, as he spoke, tree roots rose from the ground and twined around the man’s wrists and ankles. The would-be assailant panicked when he realised what was happening and tried to pull away from the roots, but it was too late, and his efforts were futile. Jaskier curled his fingers deeper into the ground and continued chanting.

_‘For nature’s grasp none can escape,  
Its grip too strong for man to shake.’_

The roots now covered even more of the man, severely limiting his range of motion, and Jaskier deemed he was no longer a threat. Just to be sure, he stepped closer and took the man’s dropped sword from the ground next to him.

Behind him, Geralt had finished off his own assailant, and was staring at Jaskier, or rather, Jaskier’s work. He looked more impressed than Jaskier’s ever seen him look at anything that had to do with him, and it filled him with pride to have provoked such a reaction from him finally.

Stepping over the body of his own opponent, Geralt made his way over to where Jaskier was, never taking his eyes off of the entwined man on the ground.

‘Good job,’ he said when he reached Jaskier, patting his shoulder. ‘I had to kill the other one, but this one we can interrogate.’

Jaskier put aside the remarks he was going to make on Geralt complimenting him for once in favour of what was more important at the moment.

‘What would you need to know?’ he asked. ‘It’s pretty clear they’re both Nilfgaardians. One can only assume they came after you to get to Princess Cirilla.’

‘Yes, that much is clear,’ Geralt muttered. ‘But there’s more they might know that would be useful to me.’

He turned to the assassin still trapped in the roots and crouched down next to him.

‘How did you find me?’

The man spat in Geralt’s general direction, but the way he was tangled in the roots, it was hard for him to aim at all.

‘We followed the stench,’ he growled.

Geralt took a deep breath, but his expression didn’t change.

‘Yeah, that’s about as much of an answer as I expected,’ he said. ‘One more chance. How did you find me?’

‘Just get on with it, mutant!’ the man spat. ‘Kill me already!’

Geralt didn’t reply, just turned to Jaskier.

‘How long will those roots hold?’ he asked.

‘Oh, they’re staying that way,’ Jaskier said. ‘They’re not exactly sentient, they’re not going to pull back without prompting.’

Geralt hummed to himself, then looked back at their prisoner.

‘We don’t have to kill you,’ he said. ‘We can just leave you here to rot. Or you can tell me what you know, and you might live.’

‘I’d rather die than live as a traitor to Nilfgaard!’

Geralt was at an impasse. He’s been backed into a moral corner, where no choice was the right one. Lesser evil, greater evil, middling, they were all the same, but more and more often he’d been forced to choose between them. The choice was either killing a defenceless man, leaving him to die (or be found later), or have him return to his allies and report on him. He hated this.

Perhaps Jaskier could sense his hesitation, because at that moment, he stepped forward and crouched in front of the entwined man.

‘We’re all _friends_ here, Man,’ he said, his voice soft and earnest, just like when he talked to people who were truly his friends, but again Geralt could hear that alien quality to it that surfaced every time he used his magic. ‘Surely you wouldn’t let us leave before letting us know how you found us. After all, you don’t want us to be in danger, do you? Not when we’re on _such good terms._ ’

When he responded, the man seemed almost dazed, his own voice softening to match Jaskier’s tone.

‘O-of course not, Master Bard,’ he said. ‘We… we have spies in Temeria. They caught word of the White Wolf’s activities. From there, it was easy enough to track him down.’

‘Ah, that’s very good. And who are these spies?’ Jaskier asked, encouragingly.

‘I don’t know, I’ve never met them,’ the ma replied. ‘We just got orders to come here and find the witcher.’

‘Interesting,’ Jaskier said. ‘Well, that was an awfully insightful conversation. Wouldn’t you agree, Geralt?’

‘Hmm.’

‘It’s really a shame that you had to betray your country to help us out,’ he said, standing up. At that moment, the man snapped out of his daze, seemingly realising what has happened. He once again began to struggle against the hold of the roots, but to no avail.

‘What have you done to me, sorcerer?’

Jaskier didn’t reply, instead leaning closer and placing a hand on the man’s shoulder.

‘Hush now,’ he said, his voice low, again with that eerie quality to it. ‘ _Sleep.’_

The man’s eyelids fluttered and then closed, his head rolling to the side. Jaskier stood and stepped back, seemingly not quite stable in his footing. Geralt decided not to comment on it, unless it got worse.

‘We can’t stay here,’ he said. ‘Pack your stuff, we’re leaving.’

Jaskier just nodded, and the two of them gathered their things and started saddling their horses. Geralt was just getting done with his when he heard Jaskier hiss behind him. When he turned to look, Jaskier was pressing a hand against his forehead, slightly hunched over.

‘Is everything alright?’ Geralt asked. He smelled blood, and immediately stepped over to Jaskier and turned him around by the shoulder. Blood trickled from his nose.

‘I… I might have overextended myself a bit there,’ Jaskier offered, sheepishly. Geralt reached back to his own saddlebags, not even looking, produced a piece of cloth that might have been anything from a handkerchief to a ruined shirt, and offered it to Jaskier. The bard took it gratefully and pressed it against his nose to stop the blood from getting everywhere.

‘Can you ride?’ Geralt asked. Jaskier nodded.

‘I think so.’

‘Good. We’ll wait for that to stop and then we’re leaving.’

Jaskier gave another vague nod and turned away, probably not wishing to bleed all over the cloth while Geralt watched. Geralt stepped over to roach, but before he pulled himself in the saddle, he paused.

‘Jaskier.’

‘Huh?’

‘You did well.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I'm afraid I won't be able to update much more often, but I will when I can.


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